


Made of Fire, Made of Heat

by antivanitas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, M/M, No Underage Sex, Slow Burn, Trans Keith (Voltron), Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:26:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antivanitas/pseuds/antivanitas
Summary: Keith Kogane is balancing school, social ineptitude, and his powerful magical ability.  No one knows that Keith could raze the quiet town of Winder, Georgia, if anyone pissed him off enough.  He's never met anyone else like him.  Then again, he’s never met a werewolf, either.  And now, he's ready to burn down the world with a werewolf named Shiro if it means saving the only person that matters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is heavily influenced by one of my favorite stories, [new night](https://www.fictionpress.com/s/3042866/1/New-Night). idk how frequently it'll be updated but hopefully i can keep it up while i still feel excited about the idea.
> 
> i'm on tumblr @ genderfluidstanmarsh so hmu 
> 
> have fun!!

 

Keith has to close his eyes, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to turn Lance into a burning ball of flames.

He won’t shut the _fuck_ up.  He’s going on and on about how much he studied for the last test and _still_ failed, while Keith sits there, not even having a test to talk about.  His teacher gives him a disapproving look, but that’s about it, because it’s expected by now that he won’t do the work required of him.  Whatever.  He fucking hates physics, anyway.  It’s not like he follows the rules.

“I spent, like, five hours studying the light refraction bullshit,” Lance whines to Hunk, who looks like he couldn’t care less, but nods along like he does.  “I still don’t really get it.  I mean, the focal point and all that or whatever.  Why do I need to know this, anyway?”

 _An excellent question_ , Keith thinks.  He slumps forward and rests his head in his hands.  It’s difficult to tune him out, even with all his time practicing over the last few years.

It’s his last class of the day.  All he wants to do is get out of here, meet up with Pidge, and go over their house to play some shitty video game.  It’s the only thing he really finds solace in, anymore, because high school is getting so mind-numbingly boring in this last year.

And that’s assuming he even graduates, which is up in the air, according to his guidance counselor.  He knows he should be a little more concerned, but he can’t bring himself to worry about it for more than a few minutes before he gets distracted by something else.  Usually, his job.  Usually, keeping away from his foster home as long as humanly possible.

“I have no idea how I’m pulling a passing grade in this class,” Lance says, huffing and pushing back onto the back two legs of his chair.  How Keith would love to add that little extra force to send him flying backwards.  “I mean, I’m almost doing as badly as Kogane, over here.”

Keith deadpans, so when he turns around, Lance looks visibly steeled behind his quirky smile.  “Keep my name out of your mouth before I punch it out.”

He wouldn’t use a punch, though.  More like an unnecessary amount of supernatural force, that would knock all of his teeth out.  There has to be a spell for that.  Keith feels his wand burning against his shin, tucked into his boot, like it’s anticipating the chance to finally achieve retribution. 

Finally, before the teacher can say anything about how badly everyone preformed as a whole, the bell rings.  Three electronic tones that are, undeniably, Keith’s favorite tones of the day.  He shoots up, slinging his beat-up backpack over his shoulder, and darts out of the room before anyone else.

Pidge is waiting for him outside by the flagpole, because their last class is in the library, which is right by the exit.  Otherwise, they’re the only two outside.  Keith makes it a point to be the first one out of school.  He hopes it’s obvious how much he doesn’t want to be there.  Maybe if he makes enough of a statement, they’ll finally expel him. 

“Thought you’d never show up,” the freshman jokes with a grin.  They’re fiddling with their phone, scrolling through Twitter.  “Ready for _League_?”

Keith groans and starts walking, knowing Pidge will follow.  “I wish it were Friday.  I’m suffering.  This week is taking forever.”

“Tell me about it.  I wonder if these actually are the best years of our lives; if they are, we’re fucked, because I can’t imagine anything more mundane.”

Pidge does that, sometimes.  Uses words like “mundane,” and it’s weird, because if Lance said something like that it would just provoke Keith to plot his demise.  But Pidge saying such a word makes them sound so intelligent.  Keith gives a half smile and throws an arm around their shoulders.

It’s an outcast thing, why they’re friends.  They don’t separate lunch periods by grade, so there are four shifts, and Keith got assigned to the first one at 11:30.  He wouldn’t dare sit with Hunk and Lance, considering he can barely handle fifty minutes a day of Lance in physics.  Pidge was sitting all alone on the first day, the smallest freshman he’s ever seen, and Keith just plopped himself down like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He’s protective of Pidge.  Always will be.  He’s considered failing on purpose, just to keep an eye on them.

They walk home, mostly in silence.  Eventually, they have to step away from the sidewalk into the cracking leaves of the forest.  It’s relatively thick, he supposes, and they have to cross a few streams, but it beats wandering the extra mile down the main road.  Kind of sucks in the winter, though.  But, right now, at the cusp of autumn when the cold barely bites at their noses, it’s peaceful.

Keith is about to ask Pidge about how their computer is doing after its blue screen the other day when he hears a very prominent growl.

They both freeze.  Pidge’s eyes grow wide behind their glasses.  That was _not_ a growl they’ve ever heard before, and they’ve been walking through these woods for years.  Keith’s eyes dart around, trying to spot the source, but it’s too thick.  Too many trees.

“Just keep walking,” he mutters to Pidge.  “Probably just a coyote.”

“Oh, _just_ a coyote,” Pidge hisses back.  “Yeah, whatever, I was definitely planning on getting ripped to shreds today.”

Keith shushes them.  The growl picks back up, starting low and gradually getting louder and louder until Keith’s skin starts to crawl.  It sounds closer.  Fuck, like…really close.

His wand, trapped underneath his boot and jeans, grows incredibly hot.  Christ, Pidge is _right_ next to him.  He’s not about to whip it out.  How would he explain that?  Yeah, sorry, I heard a growl and this piece of wood I have started getting hot.  Yeah, it lets me cast magic.  It’s whatever. 

Keith swore he’d take his secret to the grave.  He _swore_.  Though, it’s not as much of a moral dilemma if you break a promise you made to yourself.

But he doesn’t have time to reach down to his ankle before something _crashes_ into him from behind, and he hears Pidge scream his name.  Hitting the ground is actually a lot more painful than it looks in the movies, and Keith is momentarily stunned, gasping for breath.  Heart pounding, he tries to roll over to face his attacker, but he’s pinned down by his neck.

It feels like a paw.

Okay.  Okay, wandless magic.  He can do this.  He’s been practicing.  Lately, just with turning the lights on and off, but maybe he can warp that energy into a force.  He hears Pidge struggling, like someone’s holding a hand over their mouth—Keith suddenly stops caring about his dumbass secret.  He has to act, now, or they’re both dead.

He clenches his eyes shut.  Focuses.  Draws his energy from his center, tries to imagine it building and building within him like a swelling balloon.  He feels hot breath on his neck, and something wet drip down the column of his throat.  And as Pidge cries out in absolute _terror_ , Keith surges his energy out.

He feels like his eyes fall out of his head with the force, but it knocks _whatever_ is holding him down to the side with a solid _thump_.  Gasping, Keith scrambles, trying to stand and run before tripping.  He blindly reaches for his wand.  His fingers graze the leather of the handle.  And he manages to pull it out before a searing pain strikes through him, and everything goes dark.

* * *

 

Keith discovered his magic when he was seven, and playing in the backyard of his orphanage.  The other kids were joking.  A few had snuck in copies of _Harry Potter_ , and were on the current high of finishing a new book.  That was about all the excitement they got, really—the thrill of defying their religious captors and reading up on so-called Satanic literature.

And when they all picked up sticks to wave around, pretending to battle with magic spells and curses, Keith’s actually _worked_.

He had pointed his wand at a kid he particularly disliked.  Imagined that he was casting a spell, one that would knock him back into the tree behind him.  And when he jabbed the stick forward, some kind of force _shot out_ and thwarted the kid in the chest.  He hit the tree so hard that he knocked out for ten minutes. 

Everyone saw, but they didn’t say anything.  The force.  It looked like the air rising above pavement on a hot day.  The stick was unassuming; about eleven inches long, maple wood, covered in knots.  And while Keith _should_ have tossed it away and forgotten about it, he couldn’t.  He kept it.  He shaved off the knots and made the wood smooth.  He wrapped leather around the bottom three inches, because occasionally, it would get too hot to hold. 

And Keith didn’t really have _friends_ , so much as he had a few acquaintances who didn’t want to beat him up or tease him.  So, he’d spend his free time waving around the stick, experimenting, learning that different motions created different things.  At first, it was just the basics; that force thing he pushed out, and then fire, then water.  He accidentally caught the library’s front desk on fire, but no one blamed him, because who would?  Yet, they never found out why it suddenly burst into flames.

He’s had several bad falls and a few minor accidents that _should_ have snapped the wand in two.  But it’s seemingly indestructible.  Keith doesn’t know what the fuck it’s made of.  He kind of just assumes his own power channeled into it and made it that way.  He’ll never know for sure, because he’s never met anyone else like him.

Then again, he’s never met a werewolf, either.

* * *

 

Keith wakes up to a man hovering over him.  The man is shirtless.  In his bleary state of disorientation, he focuses on his appearance—he’s got an undercut, with black hair and stark white fringe.  There’s a pale scar stretching across the bridge of his nose.  He’s got cool grey eyes, filled with concern.  And he’s shirtless.

That last detail causes Keith’s gay ass to wake up.  He scrambles back, hoisting himself up onto his elbows, kicking his feet against the slippery leaves to create distance.  His nose feels stuffy, and his hand flies up to his face, only to come away coated in blood.  Shit.  _Fuck_.

Where’s Pidge?

“Where are they?” Keith seethes.  The guy looks confused, but also deeply worried.  He opens his mouth like he’s about to offer calming words, but Keith doesn’t want to hear it.  “Where’s Pidge?  What the fuck did you do with them?”

“I don’t know who that is,” the guy says, and his voice is deeper than expected.  Smoother.  Keith swallows dry.  “Look, you’re bleeding—your shoulder.  You shouldn’t be moving around so fast.”

Keith only glances down for a second, and even though he sees that his shoulder is fucking _mangled_ , he’s still too high on adrenaline to feel the pain.  Instead, his eyes scan the ground for his wand—fuck, where is it, fuck—and starts to panic.  He shoots his hand out in front of him and jolts when the wood flies into his hand from about twenty feet away.

There’s blood lining a path from where the wand came from.

Keith jumps to his feet.  His heart is having palpitations.  His wand is burning, and would probably be on fire if it weren’t enchanted.  “Pidge?  _Pidge_!”

“Stop shouting!”  The guy rushes over, and his eyes flick between Keith’s wand and his shoulder.  “Would you be quiet?  We have to get you out of here.”

Keith rounds on him.  His wand is pointed like a sword, stance defensive, black strands of hair hanging in his eyes.  “I’m not going anywhere until I find them.”

“Who’s ‘them’?” the stranger asks, and he actually seems wary of the wand, probably because Keith looks insane holding it towards him.  “Look, I smelled blood—there are wolf tracks everywhere, but I didn’t see any sign of another person.  I’m sorry.”

Keith, in his frantic state, barely comprehends any of that.  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The man tries to take a step forward, but Keith backs away, and the tip of his wand glows orange.  He’s not fucking around.  He knows he’s being irrational, and he knows this man might be the only connection he has in regards to finding Pidge, but he doesn’t understand.  He’s never even been mugged before.

This?  This is out of his league.

“I’m Shiro,” the man says.  “If someone took your friend, it’s the same person who hurt your shoulder.  I just want to help.  I think I know who it is.”

Keith’s eyes rake up and down Shiro’s bare chest with scrutiny.  “You said—what attacked me.  It felt like an animal.”

“A wolf,” Shiro nods.

“How could a wolf take Pidge?”

Shiro gives him a tight smile, almost like a grimace, and shifts his weight.  “Maybe point that thing away from me and we can talk somewhere safe.”

Keith hardens his gaze even more.  “And why should I trust some random shirtless guy in the forest?”

“Because I might be the only one who can help you,” Shiro says.  “And sorry about the shirtless thing.  I have one in my bag.”

Keith keeps the wand trained on him until he’s got a black t-shirt over his chest.  It’s got a deep collar, which distracts Keith, because he’s not blind even though he’s terrified.  Shiro is gorgeous.  Tall, handsome, muscular—he’d be turned on if he weren’t in this situation.

As Shiro zips his backpack, he gives Keith a knowing look, like he can read his mind.

Keith flushes.  “Lead the way, then.  Apparently, you know all about safe spaces.”

“We should wrap up your shoulder first,” Shiro suggests, reaching for his bag again, because maybe he has bandages in there or something.

Keith takes a chance.  This guy has already seen his wand.  “No need.”

He takes his wand, concentrates, and drags it over the wound.  He winces as the skin stitches itself back together, as he feels the blood start to flow.  When it’s done, he’s just pissed that his jacket is ruined.  It’s probably the most expensive thing he owns, aside from his phone.

Shiro raises an eyebrow.  “And you’re questioning the fact that a wolf took your friend?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably should have mentioned from the start that this'll be a trans!keith fic. i'll add a tag lmao i didn't even think about it. but anyways thank you for the kudos and hits!!! you are awesome

_Six Months Ago_

Keith wanders into the cafeteria on the first day of school, convinced he won’t be eating today.  It’s too embarrassing to sit by himself while munching away on some sandwich.  He can wait until he gets home.  He’s always done that; but it leaves the interesting dilemma of figuring out where to sit at lunch when he’s not actually eating lunch.  For a while in his freshman year, he tried to sneak outside to enjoy the peace and quiet of the Georgia air.  It immediately backfired when he realized his bully—who doesn’t have a name, because Keith never bothered to learn it—did the same thing.  He moved around, from the library to the bathroom to sitting in the hallway pretending to be taking make-up exam.  Eventually, he became notorious, and he couldn’t hide anywhere.

He settles for the end table in the far right corner of the cafeteria, which is lined by windows on one side that lets in an absurd amount of morning light.  There’s only one person sitting there.  Keith figures they’re an outcast, too—being by yourself during lunch is a good indication.  The kid doesn’t even notice.  They just keep reading their book, behind huge circle glasses and ginger fringe.

Keith takes out his phone.  They finally got rid of the stupid ban that stopped them from using phones during lunch, so he can actually have something to do with his time other than study.  It takes a good ten minutes of him playing _Jelly Splash_ before the other kid even looks up.

“Oh!”  They look so taken aback that Keith almost wants to laugh, but that would be cruel, so he just bites his lip.  “Um.  Hi.  Are you waiting for someone?”

Keith is thrown.  “Er…no.  Just me.”

They smile at each other for a moment, and then go back to their respective tasks.  Keith wonders if it would be polite to introduce himself.  He’s not usually concerned with being polite, especially when it comes to other students and what their opinion of him is.  Usually, that just consists of Lance, whom he normally tells to fuck off.  Hunk is okay.  He doesn’t really have anything against that guy.  Actually, he kind of admires him for being able to tolerate Lance.

After a few moments of silence, the sound of a chip bag exploding echoes through the cafeteria, and they both snap their heads towards it.  Once everyone laughs, they lock eyes accidentally, and now it’s awkward.

“I-I’m Pidge,” they say, a little awkwardly, stumbling over their words.  Keith gives a half smile in return.  “I’m a freshman, so…this is kind of overwhelming, you know?”

Keith nods.  “I’m a senior, but I’m probably not graduating.  So, we can sit here like outcasts together as long as you want.”

Pidge beams at him.  Their front teeth are crooked, but it’s cute.  Keith thinks that, maybe, he’s just made his first friend.

* * *

 

_Present_

They end up in a Starbucks, and Keith tries really hard to not think about the implications because he’s still worried about Pidge.  Maybe they just ran home.  But they’d never leave Keith in the dirt like that, alone and unconscious.  Plus, the last time Keith heard from them, they were screaming.

He gets a text from his foster mother as they walk inside.  Something trivial about being home before eleven.  Keith texts back a quick confirmation, though he’s not intending to stick by that curfew tonight.  He won’t sleep until he finds Pidge.

Shiro orders a chai latte, and Keith insists he doesn’t want anything, but he doesn’t let Shiro know it’s because he can’t afford it.  The last thing he needs is this guy buying him coffee.  Christ, he’s already in too deep by following him from the _middle of the forest_ to a Starbucks.

“So, what?” Shiro asks as they sit by the window, away from prying eyes.  People seem to notice Keith’s bloody jacket more than he would like.  “You’re a wizard or something?”

Keith stutters over his next few words.  “I’ve, uh…I don’t have a name for it or anything.  No one really knows about it.  I think I’m the only one.”

“Not even—Pidge?  Was that his name?”

“Their name,” Keith automatically corrects.  “Yeah.  I mean, no, they don’t know.  They’re kind of the first friend I’ve had in a while, so I don’t really know them that well.”

Shiro nods thoughtfully.  “Well, I’ve never met someone with magic, either.  I’m not surprised, though.  I could sense it from you.”

Keith’s eyes narrow.  “Sense it?”

Shiro takes a quiet sip from his latte.  “Yeah.  I’m a werewolf.”

Keith blinks.  He expects a joke.  Or an explanation, or _something_.  But nothing comes.  Shiro doesn’t even look fazed.  He stares out the window at passing cars, like it’s the most natural admission in the world.

“Dude.”  Keith mutters.  “Come on.  My friend is missing.”

“I know.  I’m trying to help you.”

“So, stop fucking around.”

Shiro seems to realize that saying he’s a _werewolf_ is not a normal thing to say.  Or, at least, he seems surprised that Keith wasn’t immediately aware.  He shifts uncomfortably, placing his latte down in favor of running his hands through his hair.  “Shit.  I just—I assumed you would know.  The whole magic thing.”

Keith blanches.  Shiro is dead serious.  And he did feel a wolf bearing down on him earlier; the paw print, the hot breath cascading over his neck, and that wetness on his neck must have been drool.  The growl—even he said it was a coyote, a canine, but they don’t get wolves in Winder.  Keith assumes that wasn’t Shiro, because the force that held him down was _not_ friendly enough to take him out for coffee.

How is that possible, though?  Magic, yeah, that’s probably just some undiscovered energy that Keith, for some reason, can channel.  At least, that’s how he’s explained it to himself over the years.  As far as he’s researched, there isn’t any real evidence of magic throughout history.  It’s all just a crock of shit.  People lying for attention, and Keith can tell, because they never describe what it _really_ is.  Their “spells” never work like the ones Keith makes himself.  The potions are fake as hell, and don’t hold up to the ones Keith cooks up in his bedroom.  He always heard of magic in media as being centuries old, with entire hidden worlds dedicated to it.  But Keith’s always been alone.  He’s always been without a source.

Werewolves?  Yeah, no.  He’s never heard of them.  And maybe he could believe it, if he thought hard enough, but it’s a lot to take in.

“Why would werewolves want Pidge?” he asks, almost disturbingly calm.  “And why were you just _there_ when it was convenient?”

Shiro stiffens, like he’s embarrassed.  “I…I just heard screaming, and I smelled fear and blood.”

“Do you live here?”

“Yes.”

“Just out for a stroll, then?”

“I was running,” Shiro mumbles.  “I don’t usually do it during the day, but I’ve been…stressed out.”

Keith decides not to ask.  They’re not here to discuss Shiro’s mental health.  They’re here to find Pidge.  Or, at least, that’s why Keith is here—it’s all he cares about.  Pidge is all he cares about.  He’s clung hard and fast to the kid.  Favorite Person status has been achieved within a matter of months, which is odd and doesn’t usually happen with Keith.

“The guy who took your friend is called Sendak,” Shiro explains.  “He’s a werewolf, like me, only he’s…different.  He’s on the other side.  The dangerous side.”

“There are sides?” Keith asks, deciding against asking about the guy’s weird name.

“There are werewolves who believe that humans are a disease and need to be eradicated,” he says.  His voice is suddenly very dark.  “I mean, for thousands of years, we’ve been hunted by humans.  They’re scared of us.  And eventually, it turned into this resistance movement, and it was kind of like…if they’re going to think we’re monsters, then we’re going to be monsters.”

Keith swallows, because he’s not sure if that means Shiro is agreeing with the genocidal side.  His wand heats up.

“I’m on the other side of the argument,” Shiro says, and Keith relaxes.  “They’re confused.  Humans are scared of what they don’t understand.  And no one on Sendak’s side is willing to listen to reason, because they’re too blinded by hate.”

“Humans do that, too,” Keith points out.  “I don’t think all of them would be too keen on werewolves, to be honest.”

Shiro bites his lip.  Keith’s eyes are drawn to the action.  He presses his thighs together.  “I know.  It’s a risk, and I get that.  But we barely tried, y’know?  And now, we’re just in horror movies and books and stuff, and we’re always the bad guys.”

Keith nods.  He can’t really relate.  Sure, there are evil depictions of magical beings, but he’s got Dumbledore and Gandalf on his side.  He knows that, if he revealed his powers, he’d get a _lot_ of attention.  And it’s partly why he’s never told anyone.

“So, Sendak…if you can smell my magic, maybe he can, too.  Maybe he wants to bait me or something.”

Shiro looks confused, pensive, and stares at Keith’s hands fidgeting on the table.  “It looks that way.  But that doesn’t make sense, either.  I’ve never actually met someone with magic before, so it’s not like you’re a threat.  And if he wanted to take you, he would have.  Just like Pidge.”

Sendak left Keith in the woods on purpose.  Maybe he just wants _Pidge_ , and needed Keith out of the picture.  Keith didn’t say anything about his magic to Pidge, so maybe they’re some kind of supernatural being and they’re in hiding, too.  There are so many possibilities and not enough answers, and Keith doesn’t know where to start.

“Okay,” he huffs.  “So, how do we find him?  Sendak.  Can you…sniff him out or something?”

Shiro’s returning expression is not amused.  “The trail was cold when I got there.  But it’s not a good idea to go after him.  I can sense your magic—it’s everywhere.  You can barely keep it in one place.  And I’m just one guy.”

“You don’t live with anyone?” Keith asks, ignoring the insult.  “You’re just here, alone?”

Shiro shrugs.  “It’s not that bad.  Kind of quiet.  I live at the edge of town.  But yeah, I’m alone.  It’s a long story.”

For some reason, that piques Keith’s interest.  It’s incredibly intriguing; this lone werewolf, wandering Winder, living off the paw-trodden path.  He’s being embarrassingly gay, right now, but he can’t seem to will himself to shut up.  He feels like he can’t stop focusing on the way Shiro’s eyes kind of soak in the light and draw him in like a black hole.

Shiro glances up at him with a raised eyebrow.  “I don’t know your name.”

Huh.  He hadn’t even thought of introducing himself.  Keith clears his throat.  “Uh.  It’s Keith.”

“Keith,” Shiro repeats.  His face breaks into a gentle smile.  “For a magician, I was kind of expecting something with more flair.  Xavier, or something.”

“I’m not a _magician_ , asshole,” Keith retorts, but he’s smiling too.  There’s a comfortable silence, afterwards, and the air between them is light and free.  Keith feels like he can actually breathe for the first time since realizing Pidge was gone.

And there it is.  The remembrance stabs him in the chest.  Pidge could be _anywhere_ , alone, and it could be because of Keith.  And maybe he’s just trusting Shiro out of desperation, because he doesn’t know what else to do.  He looks up through his lashes, and he’s pleased with himself when Shiro pauses mid-sip to stare. 

“Why are you helping me?” Keith asks.

Shiro’s expression is hard to read.  He’s actively trying to hide his emotion.  But, he composes himself, and looks Keith in the eye.

“Sendak killed someone I loved,” he says.  The emotion, the look on Shiro’s face, blindsides Keith and he feels like crying.  His entire body language right now is practiced.  Shaped with grief and molded by the need to survive.  Keith knows that look well; he’s learned to wear it as a fashion accessory.  “I’ve been looking for him for a long time.  So, helping you find him means maybe I can finally—well.”

“Kill him,” Keith finishes.

“If it comes to that,” Shiro says boldly.  “His hatred is toxic.  If I don’t get rid of it, he could hurt a lot of people.”

Keith knocks their feet together under the table, as if to offer comfort.  “A common enemy, then.  Sure.  But where do we start?”

Shiro leans forward.  “I think I’ve got an idea.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a few days i had car trouble ):

Shiro walks him home.  It’s endearing, but also a little strange, because of the circumstances in which they met.  Keith is still trying to adjust to the fact that Shiro is a werewolf, or might be a werewolf, considering he’s never seen the man as anything other than a man.  And he seriously is a man, too—like, in his mid-twenties, which is above and beyond what Keith should ever be interested in.

They reach his front gate, and Keith hesitates.  The faded wooden fence lines the yard, and it looks peaceful, with a little sign on the door that’s supposed to welcome people inside.  The porch light is on.  It casts a gentle glow over the lawn, and reminds Keith that he has to go inside, like a moth to a flame.

“I’ll text you,” Shiro promises.  They exchanged numbers during the walk home, and Keith tried very hard not to see it as something more implicit.  Shiro kept looking at him with a knowing expression, the damn mind-reader.  “It’ll be okay.  Hopefully, you won’t have to miss school.”

Keith groans.  “Hopefully?  Come on, tell me I’ll get to skip out on a period or something.”

Shiro laughs, whole-heartedly.  “You’re cute.  Now, go inside.  I’ll see you.”

“See you,” Keith responds, and as Shiro walks away, he’s absolutely glowing from the man’s words.  _Cute_.  God, he’s like a schoolgirl.

He enters the house and tries to shut the door as quietly as possible, so he can rush up the stairs in front of him, but almost immediately, his mother calls out from the kitchen.  “Keith?  It’s a little late.  Where’d you get caught up?”

Fuck.  Keith pokes his head into the narrow kitchen, and he sees his mother, Karen.  She’s got an apron on, with her gray-blonde hair in a bun while she washes the dishes.  It’s clear he just missed dinner.  But that’s nothing new; he’s been missing dinners since he first arrived here, six years ago.

“Just hanging out with Pidge,” he says, and he doesn’t stumble on the name, so he’s quite proud of himself.  “It’s only eight, though.  Ma said eleven.”

Karen clicks her tongue in disapproval.  “It’s a Tuesday.  You’re not eighteen yet, mister.”

“I was just gonna go do homework,” he says as he starts to wander off.

“And you’ll have to introduce us to that man who walked you home!”

“ _Mom_!”

Flushed with embarrassment, Keith rushes up the stairs and into his room.  It’s not exactly his favorite place to be in the world.  There’s only one lamp in the very far corner, so it’s always a little too dark.  The ceilings slant, because he’s technically in the attic, although it’s furnished.  His posters on the wall are of old video games.  He also has a habit of hanging up the jackets of the books he likes.  But no matter how much he tries to decorate, it still feels _off_.

He’s got a mixing bowl on the floor from the night before when he tried to make a potion of sleeping.  Keith suffers from pretty awful insomnia sometimes, and nothing OTC seems to help, so he decided to rely on his own ability.  It didn’t work out too well.  He nudges the entire set-up, which is placed on a scrap piece of cardboard, under his bed.

He can’t believe his mothers couldn’t agree on a damn curfew.  Frustrated, he falls onto his mattress and pulls out his phone.  Mom is Karen, and Ma is Justine.  Yes, it’s confusing.  Yes, the constant questions are annoying.  Yes, they didn’t even think for a moment that he could possibly be heterosexual.  It’s a good thing he’s nowhere close.

Speaking of, his heart leaps when he sees Shiro’s name pop up on his phone with a message.  He immediately taps on it.  It’s a full paragraph, so he settles in and gets to reading.

_I wanna meet you tomorrow after school and YES you have to go to school.  I wont be that guy who helps high schoolers skip class.  Anyway I’ll probably be waiting outside for you??  I’ll probably be on my motorcycle so I hope that’s okay.  I need to get up high to try and catch Pidge’s scent.  I think you can help kind of amplify it.  Do you have something of theirs that you could give me?_

A fucking motorcycle.  Really?  Is he rolling in money, too?  The heir to a billion-dollar estate?  Keith wonders how much more perfect this guy could possibly get.  He’s about to respond when there’s a tiny vibration and another text pops up.

_Also sorry about the cute thing, it’s probably creepy_

Keith actually laughs.  It’s the opposite of creepy, even though it should be a little terrifying.  As a seventeen-year-old, Keith has no business with someone Shiro’s age.  Though, he’s eighteen in two months.  Maybe it’s not that big of a deal.  Keith types back, and feels confidence pushing his fingers forward.

_It’s not creepy (: haha no one really calls me that_

_but yeah I have a hoodie they left at my house a while ago, idk if it will still have their scent but that’s all I got_

He doesn’t even deviate away from the messaging app while he waits for a response.  He feels his palms sweat.  Shiro has been in his life for maybe five hours, and Keith’s already crushing on him.  It’s embarrassing, really.  How is he supposed to hide his feelings from Shiro?  The guy’s a fucking werewolf; surely he’s got good perception. 

The phone buzzes.

_We can use that then.  Bring it tomorrow_

_More people should call you that.  Small and tiny humans are cute :P_

They spend the next two hours texting until Shiro tells him he has to shower.  At that point, Keith wants to jokingly text if he can join.  But he knows that wouldn’t end well; their conversation has been mostly platonic, about trivial things, like where Keith grew up and his experience in the foster system.  Keith talked about his mothers, and his high school career.  What he wants to be when he grows up and all that.

Conversing with Shiro is unbelievably easy.  Keith didn’t even feel this carefree talking to Pidge, and they’re Keith’s closest friend in probably a decade.  And it’s marginally easier being away from the werewolf’s prying eyes, and annoying mind-reading expressions.

Keith takes the opportunity, then, to practice his wandless magic.

He’s going to need it, after all, if they’re going up against Sendak.  He’s not sure if Shiro actually intends for Keith to step into the fray at all, but he wants to be prepared, anyway.  He was caught so off-guard today, and it took every ounce of his energy to throw that wolf off him.  And even when he did, the effort was enough to make his nose spurt blood. 

He places his wand gently on his birch nightstand, where it rattles and vibrates like it’s upset it isn’t being used.  Keith gives it a warning look until it stops.  It’s odd, really, how an inanimate object can have such a personality.  But it just feeds into the theory that Keith brought magic into the wand, and not the other way around.  He still wonders if any old stick would have been good enough.

Keith doesn’t have any books to learn from.  He doesn’t have any age-old spells to recant.  He just has his tiny notes, scrawled in a spiral pad, that probably sound nonsensical to anyone normal.  Talking about focused energy and expanding thoughts.  But he doesn’t want to work with force today—he wants to play with fire.

There’s a candle on the far side of the room that Keith picks up and puts on the hardwood floor.  He sits cross-legged, and keeps his eyes trained on the wick.  If he just concentrates—like using force.  Maybe that will work.

He brings the energy up into his mind and pushes, which probably isn’t the best choice, because all he manages to do is push the candle across the floor a few feet.  That’s not the magic he wants to do, damn it.  He picks up the candle and tries again.

Think.  Hot.  Fire.  Flames.  He closes his eyes, pictures the wick lighting on its own again and again, with all of his energy focused and steady.  Using a wand takes much less effort; it acts as a lightning rod, meaning all he has to do is pour energy into it, and the wand shapes it into something recognizable.  Without it, his magic just floats around his body like an aura, messy and incomprehensible.

So, he draws that aura in.  Pictures his energy condensing, absorbing into his skin, and he even feels his arms prickle with contact.  While he holds onto the energy, he thinks, _flameflameflameflameflame—_

He smells smoke.

When he cracks an eye open, he sees that the _entire candle_ is on fire.  Which is not good, considering it’s sitting on a wood floor, and perhaps this wasn’t his smartest idea.  He calls for his wand, which flies into his palm, and he immediately summons water to douse the flame.

In his rushed state, it creates a splashing wave, that covers his bedroom floor.  The candle is soaked and smoking.  But he did it.  He fucking _did_ it.

Keith can’t stop the smile from spreading on his face.  Yeah, he’ll need more practice—obviously he won’t be able to draw in his aura quite so meticulously when he’s in battle.  But, Christ, it’s a start. 

He runs to the bathroom to gather towels and he doesn’t stop smiling.

* * *

 

Shiro is waiting for him, helmet by his hip, leaning against his motorcycle that’s still running.

When he spots Keith, he gives a gentle smile.  Keith purposefully waited a little bit before leaving today.  His number one reason was that it would hurt too much to not meet Pidge at the flag pole.  It’s such a routine part of his day, and being reminded that they’re missing would send Keith either into a rage or into a depression.

But the other reason was to show off to Lance that he’s got a hot older guy waiting for him with a motorcycle.

And so what if he wore tighter pants today?  It’s not a crime.  He glances back at Lance, because they were having a one-sided conversation, and waves his goodbye.

Shiro’s got a helmet for him, and Keith wonders why he even has an extra if he lives here alone.  Does he go on dates with this thing?  The thought leaves Keith’s throat dry, so he clambers on to hide his obvious jealousy.  And Shiro does that mind reading thing again, and reaches back to pat Keith’s thigh.  It’s such a simple action, yet it ignites such fire.

He feels the engine rumble, and it’s kind of _really_ vibrating in a way that Keith isn’t used to.  He shifts a bit uncomfortably.  Please, _please_ don’t let him get all hot and wet while he’s got his crotch pressed to Shiro’s back.  But he knows that’ll be a bit difficult, because Shiro instructs Keith to wrap his arms around Shiro’s waist.  So, he basically has to plaster his body against Shiro’s, on a constantly vibrating vehicle, knowing that this guy came to the school for _him_.  He really needs to work on a spell that will restrict sexual thoughts, or something.

He doesn’t even know the highest point in Winder.  He wasn’t aware any spot was raised more than four feet above sea level.  But he realizes, after a mile or so, that they’re headed towards Fort Yargo Park.  It’s just a wooded area, mostly, with a beach and some golf courses.  Nothing special.  The lake is nice in the summer, but that’s about it.  Keith raises an eyebrow, but he wouldn’t be heard over the roar of the engine, so he stays silent.

They reach the highest point, which is just north of the beach.  Keith guesses it’s a little higher than everywhere else, but not by much.  They park in the lot, which is surprisingly pretty full, considering it’s a weekday.  It’s sort of nice out.  Keith is more of a rainy day guy, so this whole sunny-cloudless-sky thing isn’t doing it for him.  Still, he stretches in the sun like a cat, glancing out over the water.

He hands Shiro Pidge’s hoodie from inside his bag, and watches the strange sight as Shiro proceeds to sniff it.  Keith raises an eyebrow.  “Really?  From that, you think we can find them?”

Shiro pauses, and starts walking towards the top of the hill.  Keith rushes after him, curious about where this could all be going.  He seems very determined.  Shiro’s stance is that of concentration, and he stands almost eerily still, with his face towards the wind.

Keith’s breath catches.  He sees the clear outline of Shiro’s jaw, and the way it leads down his neck so smoothly and gracefully.  He’s got a muscular body—not overly so, but enough to show that he could _definitely_ get the upper hand in a fight.  Certainly a fight with Keith.  He swallows at the thought of being shoved to the ground in a spar, Shiro’s forearm against his back, Shiro’s breath cascading down his neck, Shiro’s knee pressed squarely between his—

Shiro turns to him, brow furrowed.  “I can’t get a scent on anything if you keep thinking about me like that.”

Keith _chokes_ , turning bright red as he takes a defensive step backwards.  “Oh, come _on_ , you actually _can_ read minds?”

The werewolf tilts his head, and realization dawns on him, then he starts to laugh.  Keith fails to see what’s so funny about this situation, considering his urges are being put on display.  “No, oh my God.  I’m catching your scent.  Different emotions have different scents.”

Keith stares, blankly.

“Lust kind of reminds me of cinnamon.”

“ _Dude_!” Keith exclaims, and Shiro laughs at his expense, which is very rude.  “That’s private shit, man!  You’ve been doing that this whole time?”

“It’s very distinct!”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keith curses.  His thoughts about Shiro—which have gotten increasingly dirty—may not be laid out for Shiro to read like a book.  But he’s getting the abridged version, isn’t he?  Sneaky bastard.  Keith vows to make some kind of spell that’ll stop that from happening, because feels fucking _violated_ right now.

Pouting, he moves to sit on a stump.  Shiro gives him an approving look, as if to congratulate him on keeping his thoughts pure and wholesome.  Keith kicks around a few rocks and leaves with his chin in his hands.

As he sits there, painfully repressed, Shiro concentrates.  He frequently presses his nose back into the fabric, brow furrowed and stance like steel.  Keith waits.  And waits.  He’s getting impatient and starts tapping his foot and his mind wanders.  Pidge could be out there, right now, getting hurt.  They could be screaming Keith’s name.  They could be dead.  His heart jumps and restarts at the thought, because no.  He’s not losing Pidge.  He’s not losing anyone.

“I can’t get it,” Shiro’s voice rings out.  It shakes Keith from his reverie, and his shoulders droop in defeat.  If a werewolf can’t find Pidge, Keith can’t, either.  He stands, frowning, and wanders to Shiro’s side.

“Nothing?” he asks.  He takes the hoodie from Shiro, who is shaking his head.  “Damn.  Was that your only plan?”

Shiro looks sheepish and ashamed, and Keith’s heart breaks, because none of this is his fault or anything.  “I’m sorry, Keith.  Trust me, I wanna find Sendak just as badly as you do.”

Keith is burning up, wanting to ask _why_ , but he knows it’s not the time or the place.  He barely knows Shiro, after all.  It’s probably a terribly sensitive subject, and Keith shouldn’t encroach on that.  But even still, his mind wanders—dead parents?  Dead sibling?  Dead friend?  Dead boyfriend or girlfriend?  God, it could be anything.

He glances back to the hoodie, and he focuses on a single hair that has been left behind.  Hazel in color against the olive green of the fabric.  Is this really the last of Pidge he’ll ever see?  The last time he’ll ever come close? 

And then, Keith gets an idea.

“I think I might know how to find them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu @ genderfluidstanmarsh on tumblr i love writing prompts


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